‘Did this intercept say where they would be landing?’ demanded Loken.
‘It did,’ smiled Lucius. ‘The Mackaran Basilica, just beyond the palace. It’s a big temple with a spire in the shape of a trident.’
‘I have to find Tarik.’
‘He is with Nero Vipus, helping Vaddon with the wounded.’
‘Thank you for bringing me this news, Saul,’ said Loken with a cruel smile. ‘This changes everything.’
L
UCIUS PEERED PAST
the bullet-riddled pillar, scanning through the darkness of one of the many battlefields scattered throughout the ruins of the palace. Bodies, bolters and chainaxes lay on the shattered tiles where they had been dropped and many of the bodies were still locked in their last, fatal combat.
It had not been difficult for Lucius to slip out of the palace. The biggest danger had been the snipers of the recon squads the Warmaster’s forces had deployed among the ruins. Lucius had spied movement in the ruined buildings several times and had taken cover in shell craters or behind heaps of corpses.
Squirming through the filth and darkness like an animal – it had been humiliating, though the sights, sounds and smells of these battlefields still filled his senses in an arousing way. He stepped warily into the courtyard. The bodies that lay everywhere had been butchered, hacked apart with chainblades or battered to death with fists.
It was an ugly spectacle, yet he relished the image of how intense their deaths must have been.
‘No artistry,’ he said to himself as a gold and purple armoured figure detached from the shadows. A score of warriors followed him and Lucius smiled as he recognised Lord Commander Eidolon.
‘Lord commander,’ said Lucius, ‘it is a pleasure to stand before you once more.’
‘Damn your blandishments!’ spat Eidolon. ‘You are a traitor twice over.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ said Lucius, slouching on a fallen pillar of black marble, ‘but I am here to give you what you want.’
‘Ha!’ scoffed Eidolon. ‘What can you give us, traitor?’
‘Victory,’ said Lucius.
‘Victory?’ laughed Eidolon. ‘You think we need your help to give us that? We have you in a vice! One by one, death by death, victory will be ours!’
‘And how many warriors will you lose to achieve it?’ retorted Lucius. ‘How many of Fulgrim’s chosen are you willing to throw into a battle that should never have been fought at all? You can end this right now, right here, and keep all your Astartes alive for the real battle! When the Emperor sends his reply to Horus’s treachery you will need every single one of your battle-brothers and you know it.’
‘And what would be your price for this invaluable help?’ asked Eidolon.
‘Simple,’ said Lucius. ‘I want to rejoin the Legion.’
Eidolon laughed in his face and Lucius felt the song of death surge painfully through his body, but he forced its killing music back down inside him.
‘Are you serious, Lucius?’ demanded Eidolon. ‘What makes you think we
want
you back?’
‘You need someone like me, Eidolon. I want to be part of a Legion that respects my skills and ambition. I am not content to stay a captain for the rest of my life like that wretch Tarvitz. I will be at Fulgrim’s side where I belong.’
‘Tarvitz,’ spat Eidolon. ‘Does he still live?’
‘He lives,’ nodded Lucius, ‘although I will gladly kill him for you. The glory of this battle should be mine, yet he lords over us all as if he is one of the chosen.’
Lucius felt his bitterness rise and fought to maintain his composure. ‘He was once happy to trudge alongside his warriors and leave better men to the glory, but he has chosen this battle to discover his ambition. It’s thanks to him that I’m down here at all.’
‘You ask for a great deal of trust, Lucius,’ said Eidolon.
‘I do, but think what I can give you: the palace, Tarvitz.’
‘We will have these things anyway.’
‘We are a proud Legion, lord commander, but we never send our brothers to their deaths to prove a point.’
‘We follow the orders of the Warmaster in all things,’ replied Eidolon guardedly.
‘Indeed,’ noted Lucius, ‘but what if I said I can give you a victory so sudden it will be yours and yours alone. The World Eaters and the Sons of Horus will only flounder in your wake.’
Lucius could see he had caught Eidolon’s interest and suppressed a smile. Now all he had to was reel him in.
‘Speak,’ commanded Eidolon.
‘I’
M COMING WITH
you, Garvi,’ said Nero Vipus, walking into the only dome of the palace not to be ruined by the siege. It had once been an auditorium with a stage and rows of gilded seats, where the music of creation had once played to the Choral City’s elite, but now it was moldering and dark.
Loken rose from his battle meditation, seeing Vipus standing before him and said, ‘I knew you would wish to come, but this is something Tarik and I have to do alone.’
‘Alone?’ said Vipus. ‘That’s madness. Ezekyle and Little Horus are the best soldiers the Legion has ever had. You can’t go up against them alone.’
Loken placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, ‘The palace will fall soon enough with or without Tarik and me. Saul Tarvitz has done unimaginable things in keeping us all alive as long as he has, but ultimately the palace will fall.’
‘Then what’s the point of throwing your life away hunting down Ezekyle and Little Horus?’ demanded Vipus.
‘We only have one goal on Isstvan III, Nero, and that’s to hurt the Warmaster. If we can kill the last of the Mournival then the Warmaster’s plans suffer. Nothing else matters.’
‘You said we were supposed to be holding the traitors here while the Emperor sent the other Legions to save us. Is that not true any more? Are we on our own?’
Loken shook his head and retrieved his sword from where he had propped it against the wall. ‘I don’t know, Nero. Maybe the Emperor has sent the Legions to rescue us, maybe he hasn’t, but we have to assume that we’re on our own. I’m not going to fight with nothing but blind hope to keep me going. I’m going to make a stand.’
‘And that’s what I want to do,’ said Vipus, ‘at my friend’s side.’
‘No, you need to stay here,’ said Loken. ‘Your stand must be made here. Every minute you keep the traitors here is another minute for the Emperor to bring the Warmaster to justice. This killing is Mournival business, Nero. Do you understand?’
‘Frankly, no,’ said Nero, ‘but I will do as you ask and stay here.’
Loken smiled. ‘Don’t mourn me yet, Nero. Tarik and I may yet prevail.’
‘You’d better,’ said Vipus. ‘The Luna Wolves need you.’
Loken felt humbled by Nero’s words and embraced his oldest friend. He dearly wished he could tell him that there was yet hope and that he expected to return alive from this mission.
‘Garviel,’ said a familiar voice from the entrance to the dome.
Loken and Nero released each other from their brotherly embrace and saw Saul Tarvitz, framed in the wan light of the auditorium’s entrance. ‘Saul,’ said Loken.
‘It’s time,’ said Tarvitz. ‘We’re ready to create the diversion you requested.’
Loken nodded and smiled at the two brave warriors, men he had fought through hell for and would do so a hundred times more. The honour they did him just by being his friends made his chest swell with pride. ‘Captain Loken,’ said Tarvitz formally. ‘It may be that this is the last time we will meet.’
‘I do not think,’ replied Loken, ‘there is any “maybe” about it.’
‘Then I will wish you all speed, Garviel,’
‘All speed, Saul,’ said Loken, offering his hand to Tarvitz. ‘For the Emperor,’
‘For the Emperor,’ echoed Tarvitz.
With his farewells said, Loken made his way from the auditorium, leaving Tarvitz and Vipus to organize the defences for the next attack.
Surviving tactical maps indicated that the Mackaran Basilica lay to the north of their position and as he made his way towards the point he had selected as the best place to leave the palace he found Torgaddon waiting for him. ‘You saw Vipus?’ asked Torgaddon.
‘I did,’ nodded Loken. ‘He wanted to come with us.’
Torgaddon shook his head. ‘This is Mournival business.’
‘That’s what I told him.’
Both warriors took deep breaths as the enormity of what they were about to attempt swept over them once again.
‘Ready?’ asked Loken.
‘No,’ said Torgaddon. ‘You?’
‘No.’
Torgaddon chuckled as he turned to the tunnel that led from the palace.
‘Aren’t we a pair?’ he said and Loken followed him into the darkness.
For good or ill, the final battle for Isstvan III was upon them.
‘Y
OU DARE RETURN
to me in failure?’ bellowed Horus, and the bridge of the
Vengeful Spirit
shook with the fury of his voice. His face twisted in anger at the wondrous figure standing before him, struggling to comprehend the scale of this latest setback.
‘Do you even understand what I am trying to do here?’ raged Horus. ‘What I have started at Isstvan will consume the whole galaxy, and if it is flawed from the outset then the Emperor will break us!’
Fulgrim appeared uncowed by his anger, his brother’s features betraying an insouciance quite out of character for the primarch of the Emperor’s Children. Though he had but recently arrived on his flagship,
Pride of the Emperor
, Fulgrim looked as magnificent as ever.
His exquisite armour was a work of art in purple and gold, bearing many new embellishments and finery with a flowing, fur-lined cape swathing his body. More than ever, Horus thought Fulgrim looked less like a warrior and more like a rake or libertine. His brother’s long white hair was pulled back in an elaborate pattern of plaits and his pale cheeks were lightly marked with what appeared to be the beginnings of tattoos.
‘Ferrus Manus is a dull fool who would not listen to reason,’ said Fulgrim. ‘Even the mention of the Mechanicum’s pledge did not—’
‘You swore to me that you could sway him! The Iron Hands were essential to my plans. I planned Isstvan III with your assurance that Ferrus Manus would join us. Now I find that I have yet another enemy to contend with. A great many of our Astartes will die because of this, Fulgrim.’
‘What would you have had me do, Warmaster?’ smiled Fulgrim, and Horus wondered where this new, sly mocking tone had come from. ‘His will was stronger than I anticipated.’
‘Or you simply had an inflated opinion of your own abilities.’
‘Would you have me kill our brother, Warmaster?’ asked Fulgrim.
‘Perhaps I will,’ replied Horus unmoved. ‘It would be better than leaving him to roam free to destroy our plans. As it is he could reach the Emperor or one of the other primarchs and bring them all down on our heads before we are ready.’
‘Then if you are quite finished with me, I shall return to my Legion,’ said Fulgrim, turning away.
Horus felt his choler rise at Fulgrim’s infuriating tone and said, ‘No, you will not. I have another task for you. I am sending you to Isstvan V. With all that has happened, the Emperor’s response is likely to arrive more quickly than anticipated and we must be prepared for it. Take a detail of Emperor’s Children to the alien fortresses there and prepare it for the final phase of the Isstvan operation.’
Fulgrim recoiled in disgust. ‘You would consign me to a role little better than a castellan, as some prosaic housekeeper making it ready for your grand entrance? Why not send for Perturabo? This kind of thing is more to his liking.’
‘Perturabo has his own role to play,’ said Horus. ‘Even now he prepares to lay waste to his home world in my name. We shall be hearing more of our bitter brother very soon. Have no fear of that.’
‘Then give this task to Mortarion. His grimy footsloggers will relish such an opportunity to muddy their hands for you!’ spat Fulgrim. ‘My Legion was the chosen of the Emperor in the years when he still deserved our service. I am the most glorious of his heroes and the right hand of this new Crusade. This is… this is a betrayal of the very principles for which I chose to join you, Horus!’
‘Betrayal?’ said Horus, his voice low and dangerous. ‘A strong word, Fulgrim. Betrayal is what the Emperor forced upon us when he abandoned the galaxy to pursue his quest for godhood and gave over the conquests of our Crusade to scriveners and bureaucrats. Is that the charge you would level at me now, to my face, here on the bridge of my own ship?’
Fulgrim took a step back, his anger fading, but his eyes alight with the excitement of the confrontation. ‘Perhaps I do, Horus. Perhaps someone needs to tell you a few home truths now that your precious Mournival is no more.’
‘That sword,’ said Horus, indicating the venom-sheened weapon that hung low at Fulgrim’s waist. ‘I gave you that blade as a symbol of my trust in you, Fulgrim. We alone know the true power that lies within it. That weapon almost killed me and yet I gave it away. Do you think I would give such a weapon to one I do not trust?’
‘No, Warmaster,’ said Fulgrim.
‘Exactly. The Isstvan V phase of my plan is the most critical,’ said Horus, stoking the dangerous embers of Fulgrim’s ego. ‘Even more so than what is happening below us. I can entrust it to no other. You
must
go to Isstvan V, my brother. All depends on its success.’
For a long, frightening moment, violent potential crackled between Horus and the primarch of the Emperor’s Children.
Fulgrim laughed and said, ‘Now you flatter me, hoping my ego will coerce me into obeying your orders.’
‘Is it working?’ asked Horus as the tension drained away.
‘Yes,’ admitted Fulgrim. ‘Very well, the Warmaster’s will be done. I will go to Isstvan V.’
‘Eidolon will stay in command of the Emperor’s Children until we join you at Isstvan V,’ said Horus and Fulgrim nodded.
‘He will relish the chance to prove himself further,’ said Fulgrim.
‘Now leave me, Fulgrim,’ said Horus, ‘You have work to do.’
SIXTEEN
Enemy within
The Eightfold Path
Honour must be satisfied
A
POTHECARY
V
ADDON FOUGHT
to save Casto’s life. The upper half of the warrior’s armour had been removed and his bare torso was disfigured by a gory wound, flaps of skin and chunks of muscle blown aside like the petals of a bloody flower by an exploding bolter round.